


Covert ops

by Hexes



Series: Hex'verse Spideypool [2]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Blasphemy, Cock Worship, Daddy Kink, Dominance, Face-Fucking, Finger Sucking, M/M, More spider-like Peter, Semi-Public Sex, Skull Fucking, Submission, Subspace, Topspace, ddlb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 01:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11817927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexes/pseuds/Hexes
Summary: Wade notices a coatroom in Avengers Tower. Obviously, this means that he has to fuck Peter in it. Obviously.Un-beta'd.





	Covert ops

    Peter isn't really sure how he got talked into this. That's a common occurrence where Wade is involved: The verbal typhoon can be quite persuasive when your dick is doing most of the thinking. Why'd evolution only supply enough blood for one head? How did that work to benefit human evolution? Because right now? Breaking into Avengers Tower for illicit sexy-times? It doesn't seem evolutionarily advantageous.

    Wade stalks around the welcome desk, and Peter follows behind at a widespread crawl, less than an inch between his chest and the floor, breathing through his skin. Nerves tend to make him go full spider, and there's something especially nerve-wracking about sneaking into a place as tightly controlled as Avengers Tower. Wade seems to be enjoying the subterfuge; he's wearing a darker suit than usual. It's mostly black with only small splashes of red, and the lenses are smaller (Peter decides against mentioning that it reminds him of Spawn). They're nearing their target, and Wade seems to be vibrating with excitement, motioning Peter to hurry the hell up.  

    There's a coatroom or some such nonsense behind the desk to the left, and, apparently, not only had Wade noticed it at some point, he'd checked it for monitoring equipment, and decided that he simply  _had_ to fuck Peter in it. ‘ _Because of course, he would_ ,’ Peter thinks wearily. And of course, Peter would acquiesce, because any excuse to get filthy with Wade is a perfectly acceptable excuse.

    Wade gets the door open and slips in. Peter is following him closely, strung tighter than a bowstring. The door clicks shut behind them, and Wade fiddles with it, preventing it being opened. You know, just in case someone was planning on checking the coatroom at fucking o’ three hundred hours on a Tuesday.  

   A soft light shudders into life at Wade's insistence. It's a dim blue bulb in an artistically minimal fixture, and the way it illuminates the Deadpool suit is downright eerie. Peter slips his mask off before he sinks to his knees, looking up from under his thick lashes in a way that he knows drives Wade up the goddamn wall.

    “Daddy?” Peter starts, nervously. He's certain that he can sense the air currents in the room with how high-strung he's feeling. Christ, he's pulled tighter than the C8 cord on a grand piano. He chews his lip, glancing around the dimly lit room. The lighting isn't helping - the bulb is whining at a pitch that scrapes the inside of his skull raw, and the way it's playing on Wade's suit puts him in mind of the vague terror he felt in Wade's presence when they first met. Wade is dangerous, always has been, and right now he _looks_ it.

    Wade seems impossibly tall from this angle, and it makes Peter's heart flutter like a trapped bird. He settles himself more comfortably on his knees, petting Wade's steely thighs. He's starting to tremble, taking shaky breaths through his nose while Wade lets the tension build.

    “Open,” Wade finally commands, fiddling with his suit, “open up for Daddy.” Wade's been different since his return from North Korea - sharper, more demanding. He's just as observant as he was before, but now it's easier for him to string those observations into actions. Actions that often result in Peter drunk on sex, and with increasing frequency, submission. Wade achieves topspace faster now, and he stays there longer... it's literal fucking magic.

    Peter whines low in his throat, opening his mouth obediently, looking up like he's waiting to receive the sacrament. Wade's already hard - has been since he talked Peter around to coming here tonight. Peter's still too nervous to really be aroused. His skin feels like it's on fire, and he can almost hear JARVIS dreaming of electric sheep.

    Wade manages to wrest himself free of the cup, and the scent of his arousal is so powerful that Peter can't breathe properly for a second, overwhelmed by the scent-taste. Wade doesn't give him time to recover from the blow before he's shoved himself into Peter's mouth, one hand cradling the base of Peter's skull like he's as delicate as spun glass.

    “Such a good boy for Daddy,” Wade breathes, with his voice like kerosene, sweet-hot and vicious.  “Coming here for me. My beautiful little spider. So pretty on your knees,” he begins a gentle rhythm. Peter's eyes drift closed, trying to focus, trying to open his throat for Wade's relentless invasion. “Daddy’ll take care of you, baby boy.” Peter whines in response. The location, the buzz of the bulb, the smell of Wade's skin, the gravelly sound-feel of his gargled glass voice. Peter's eyes flutter; he can't decide if it's easier looking up at Daddy, frightening as he seems right now, or keeping his eyes closed, where the scent-taste-touch of his skin is as strong as a hurricane. He clasps his hands behind his back, finally relaxing into his role, closing his eyes gently.

    “Oh, my little prince,” Wade thrusts roughly, tightening his fingers in Peter's messy brown hair as Peter whines needily around Wade's demanding length. Peter's starting to feel a gentle pull, a soft caress of submissive comfort - Wade's skin feels like he'd imagine a tens unit would if it were made flesh. The skin and scar tissue shifts, even between one thrust and the next, and the feel is so engrossing that he could happily stay on his knees, sucking, and licking, and _worshipping_ for as long as Daddy wants. Anything for Daddy: Anything.

    “Daddy's little _slut_ ,” Wade coos, and Peter shudders at the way he hisses the last word, like it's cutting its way out of his mouth… Peter blinks sluggishly up at his Daddy like he's been drugged. “Such a pretty mouth, made just for Daddy's cock, drawn up picture perfect,” Wade drags the tip of one gloved index finger around the seal of Peter's cherry candy coloured lips, purring softly. “Made just for your Daddy to facefuck,”

    Wade yanks viciously at Peter's hair, working his length farther into his baby boy’s mouth like he's trying to find the source of Peter's breathy little whine with his dick. Peter's mouth may feel like Valhalla (and Wade _would_ know), but the poor little thing has never been able to deepthroat. Wade thinks, perhaps, given how quickly Peter is rising, tonight might be the night. It would be a fitting conclusion to Peter's teasing in the conference room, those months ago. Wade purrs, remembering the first hint of submission that Peter let slip. He pets Peter's hair lovingly.

    “Let Daddy in, baby boy, give Daddy what he wants.” He pushes farther against the back of Peter's mouth, whispering praise and encouragement. “Don't worry my little prince, you can do this for Daddy.” His hips stutter slightly when Peter moans. “You always look so good wrapped around Daddy's cock,” he pushes again, petting Peter's cheek to feel himself through the taut wall of his baby boy's flesh. “Let Daddy in, little one,” he pushes again, reveling in the sluggish fluttering of Peter's eyelids. “Give yourself to Daddy,” he pushes harder, and Peter's throat falls open like floodgates. The tension bleeds out of his muscles like the shuddering throb of an arterial wound, the last vestiges of acuity leaving his eyes.

    “Fuck,” Wade's voice sounds like a jet engine, and the rough sound of it makes Peter feel drugged. “Daddy loves your filthy little mouth,” he reaches down, fingers resting lightly where he can feel Peter's neck distended from having Wade down his throat. “You want Daddy to fuck you, baby boy? Ruin my little prince’s gorgeous mouth?” Peter tries to whine, tries to nod, but he can't really get a sound around Wade's cock jammed down his throat, and he can't move his head properly. Peter pointedly blinks once, and Wade chuckles as though he's been given the keys to Armageddon.

    Wade doesn't ease into it - doesn't have to. Peter's deep enough into subspace now that he'll gladly take anything his Daddy offers him. Right now he'd eat from Wade's hand, or - now that he can manage it - sit with Wade's cock shoved down his throat for hours and just float happily all the while. Wade thrusts like he's seeking vengeance, growling around his pleasure by sheer force of will.

    “Always wanted to do this, baby boy. First time I saw you, all tight spandex and righteous indignation I wanted to shove you down on your knees and fuck your sanctimonious mouth until you _cried_.” Wade sinks both hands into Peter's hair, using the grip to keep Peter still while he fucks his baby boy’s throat. Peter's eyes are watering, but the look of adoring supplication in his eyes is destroying Wade's self-control

    “Wanted to see you gagging for it, swallowing every drop I gave you, begging me for more,” a rough tremor starts in Wade's pelvis, making his thrusts shaky, his fingers clenching spastically in Peter's hair. “Wanted to make you mine, baby boy.” The ferocious fire of orgasm burns its way through the curve of Wade's spine, through his sac, tight against the base of his cock, crushed against the abused flesh of Peter's lips. He lets the first few pulses slide down his baby boy’s throat, withdrawing slowly to fill his mouth. “Mark you,” he snarls, pulling out completely and painting the last of his spend all over Peter's flushed face.

    Wade chokes down a few breaths, his knees weak while he's taking in his handiwork. Peter looks like he's achieved nirvana on his knees. His hair's more of a disaster than Wade's ever seen (and he's done his fair share of messing it up himself), his eyes are glassy and unfocused, and the sight of his come splashed all over Peter's blushing cheeks is more than enough to get him completely ready to go again.

    “Oh, baby boy,” he sighs, happily. “Baby _boy_ ,” he crouches down to look Peter in the eye, “Daddy's gonna take care of you, okay?” Peter mews plaintively, shifting his weight from one knee to the other. How he can look bashful with Wade's come drying on his face is beyond comprehension, but tap-dancing Christ, it makes Wade want to rip the boy's pants off and fuck him stupid. Instead, he asks politely.

    “What do you need, sweetie?” Peter peeks up at him, chewing on a raw lip like he can't bear to admit to his needs.

    “Touch me?” He sighs, eventually.

    “Where baby boy?” Truthfully, Wade had it figured out before he ever asked, but he does so enjoy hearing Peter articulate his desires. “You need to use your words.”

    “Between my legs, Daddy…” he's playing hard to get, and Wade can't decide whether he likes it or not. “Inside,” Peter adds shyly, and Wade decides that he very much likes it. “And…” he's chewing his lip again, eyes nearly closed as he breathes softly, “my mouth?”

    Wade's suddenly wondering if he can orgasm just from hearing this soft, fucked out version of Peter. He smiles mischievously through the mask, shucking down the leggings of Peter's uniform, and running his still-gloved fingers through the mess his baby boy's face.

    “You want Daddy to fingerfuck you?” Peter nods slowly, spreading his knees as far as the bunched fabric on his thighs allows. His breathing is uneven, he can't quite focus, and his voice bears witness to the abuse Wade just dealt his throat.

    “B-both, at the same time” he whispers, staring intently at Wade's shoulder. Wade nearly cries when he hears the whispered demand. Circling the tight ring of muscle between his baby boy’s legs, he presses gently, gauging how relaxed Peter actually is.

    “At the same time, Daddy… please.” Peter sounds like he's high, but he's pushing back against Wade's fingers and opening his mouth.

    “Fuck, baby boy,” Wade works some quick magic with the pouch of holding, getting a bottle of gun oil, and soaking his glove before slipping one finger into Peter's waiting ass. “Such a perfect slut for your Daddy.” Peter's eyes roll for a moment when Wade works a second finger in. “Are you ready, baby?” Peter nods absently. He jerks to attention when Wade shoves two fingers into his mouth, growling ' _suck_ ,’ and setting a punishing pace between his hands.

    “So needy, tonight,” Wade breathes in his ear, “so ready for Daddy to _use_ you.” Peter whines, nursing at Wade's fingers like he's starving, soaking the fabric with saliva.

    “I'm going to lay you down, little prince - want you to bring your knees up and wrap your arms around them.” Peter blinks in confusion for a moment before unclasping his hands from behind his back, letting Wade move him as needed. Wade slips his fingers out of Peter's mouth for a moment to arrange limbs how he sees fit and Peter keenslike he's been stabbed in the gut.

    “Shh, shh, shh, hush baby,” Wade pushes his fingers back between Peter's begging lips, “hush sweetie. Daddy's got you,” he pets his baby boy’s tongue, “Daddy's right here.” He looms over Peter again, harshly curling his fingers against the younger man’s prostate. “You have to come for Daddy, now. You have to show me how much you want to make me happy, baby boy.” Peter nods frantically, nibbling gently on the fingers in his mouth, and trying desperately to rock onto the fingers torturing his prostate.

    Wade smiles down at him, though the effect is lost through the mask. “Such a good little slut for Daddy,” Peter's truthfully started to cry, the pleasure taking a knife’s edge of pain. “I bet you'd do anything for Daddy,” Peter's nodding again, earnest and eager through his tears. “Don't you wish you could have Daddy in both of your perfect holes at once?” He can tell that Peter's getting close - his thighs are trembling, and he's stopped breathing through his lungs.

    “Wish you could have Daddy fuck your pretty throat while he ruins your gorgeous ass?” Peter's trying to pinch his knees closed, now, his eyes rolling beneath his lids. “Just think, baby boy: Daddy coming in both of your greedy little holes at the same time-” Peter's eyes snap open, flick closed, and orgasm rampages through him, his scream muffled by Wade's hastily repositioned hand.

    Wade gently slides his fingers from Peter's abused ass, reveling in the ruination of his gloves - perhaps he'll keep this pair for special occasions. His baby boy is gasping through his mouth, now, shuddering as the aftershocks of his somewhat painful orgasm work themselves out. Peter whines softly, his gaze still unfocused.

    “It's okay, baby boy. Daddy's right here, Daddy's got you,” he quickly slides the spider leggings back into place and snatches the mask off the floor. He can't find the bottle of gun oil, but whatever. He's here often enough that it shouldn't be too suspicious. Maybe. Whatever. He needs to get Peter home posthaste. Gathering Peter into his arms, he taps the teleporter on his belt. He's got a sleepy sub to bring back down. He smiles softly at the way Peter's pawing at his mask.

    “Daddy?”

    “We’re home baby boy, Daddy's got you. Daddy's always got you.”

 

    It's Tony who finds the bottle of oil when he finally gets the fucking door open. The room smells like a seedy porn shop, and the carpet is ruined.

    “I am going to god damn **kill** Wade - this carpet came from Turkey!” Pepper peeks over his shoulder, and huffs, unimpressed.

     “You did worse to it with the maple syrup incident.”

**Author's Note:**

> So. Ah. Huh. That happened. This popped out of nowhere in about two days (it usually takes me several months to cobble anything together). So that's nice. 
> 
> Please comment - it feeds my soul.
> 
> Peace, y'all.


End file.
